


This Feral Heart

by BigBadLittleRed



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Brain Damage, Feral Behavior, Fillorian Tarzan Q, M/M, fillory raised quentin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-04-08 14:04:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14106969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigBadLittleRed/pseuds/BigBadLittleRed
Summary: They just needed a guide, someone who knew Fillory. Who knew the best person for the job was a guy from Earth?





	1. The Tree Stalker

**Author's Note:**

> ( Dedicated to frankie_31, who made an incredible idea and fic that I stole and made my own. I hope you like it, it's for you, friend! )

“This place is like a maze; my entire internal compass is completely off.” Penny tells them as they wander away from the rocky beach, crowns atop the heads of Eliot, Margo, Josh, and Julia.

 

They couldn’t exactly blame Penny, Fillory was a whole different planet. The flora and fauna were beyond their comprehension, they were lucky to have gotten to their coronation and retrieve the Virgo blade with how mixed up the place was. Julia and Margo were the only ones who knew remotely where to go and what to do, from memories of the Fillory and Further novels.

 

Eliot wishes now that he’d taken the time to read them, considering he was now a king of the place.

 

“We need to find someone who knows their way around, a guide.” Julia suggests, and they all murmur their agreements as the head back the way they came.

 

They walk through the forest, along barely discernable pathways and through plants and trees that while similar to Earth’s, are distinctly different. It’s about half an hour before Eliot starts to feel like someone is watching them, he’d had the feeling before and considering a lot of Fillorian wildlife was sentient, it was expected. But this was different, it felt like something had been following them.

 

“Is it just me, or is anyone else getting major stalker vibes right now?” Margo mutters as she steps over a log, Eliot looks back at her and scans the tree line behind them.

 

“Someone’s following us,” He says quietly to Julia and Penny, who carefully peer around for a moment themselves as casually as possible. They start to walk again, everyone keeping their eyes out, it’s not long until they catch the creep in the act.

 

“Gotcha now,” Penny says under his breath, turning and casting out a hand up into the trees. There’s the sound of a branch breaking, followed by a startled shout. Eliot winces when their stalker hits the forest floor, almost bouncing with the impact before rolling onto their back.

 

It’s a person, surprisingly enough, a young man about their age. He’s shirtless, dressed in tight shorts that look filthy, and a thin leathery looking coat drawn over his shoulders with a big furry hood on it that was matted with leaves and vine. He’s also barefoot, and looks to have been that way for a while, the bottoms of his feet a dark color. He groans quietly and rolls again, slowly pushing himself up onto his hands and knees.

 

“Why are you following us?” Julia demands, stepping forward. The young man glances over at them with wild eyes, a few scars on his face that have no obvious shape or origin to them.

 

“Well?” Penny snaps impatiently as the young man stands to his full height, which isn’t much, he’s rather small.

 

“He looks like a hermit,” Josh mutters.

 

“Talk about a mountain man,” Margo says quietly to Eliot, earning the man’s attention. He slowly steps forward, reaching out a hand that has the woman stepping back into Eliot. The man continues to walk closer, stretching his arm up to point at Eliot’s head. His fingers brush the jewels encrusted into the halo, and a small smile finds his lips.

 

“King,” He breathes out softly, Eliot can’t help but smile curiously at the pure wonder and joy written openly on the young man’s face.

 

“God, he reeks.” Margo slips out from between them, and Eliot can definitely see what she means. He smells like body odor and dirt, there’s a layer of filth covering every inch of his visible skin. His fingernails were long enough to hold a caking of dirt and grime underneath them, and his calloused palms were almost as dark as his feet were.

 

“King,” The man repeats, still smiling as he takes the crown off Eliot’s head.

 

“Hey!” Julia snaps, just as Margo makes an objective noise and Penny sighs loudly in irritation. The man tenses up, shoulders hunching up and the smile slipping from his face. He hands the crown back guiltily, then shrinks down to the floor in a crouch and slowly starts to crawl back.

 

“Hey, wait!” Eliot panics, hurrying after him. The young man makes a startled noise and trips backwards over a log, grimacing as Eliot nears. “It’s okay,” He holds out his hand, which the man carefully takes and uses to help himself up with.

 

“You are not considering taking him with us,” Penny insists, the feral man gives him a look that has Eliot wondering just how much he understood.

 

“He probably knows his way around, better than us at least.” Eliot says, smiling at the man when he looks back at the High King. “Do you know how to get to Whitespire?” He asks, the man’s eyebrows draw together in mild confusion.

 

“Whitespire,” He repeats, then slowly nods, a small smile finding his lips. “The castle! I’ll take you!” He says eagerly, grabbing Eliot by the wrist and tugging him in a different direction.

 

“This is such a bad idea,” Penny grumbles as they follow the man, who moves at a fast pace.

 

He disappears on them multiple times, but always reappears in a moment or two when he realizes they aren’t moving as fast as him. His eyes are bright when he gestures for them to hurry up, before moving forward into the brush again.

 

“Do you have a hard on for this off-brand Tarzan?” Margo asks, unimpressed as they push through another set of bushes and tree limbs.

 

“He’s probably just lonely, Bambi. On his own out here, it’d make anyone crazy.” He defends quietly, the man appears again, this time bouncing excitedly.

 

“King!” He grabs Eliot’s arm and pulls him through the last set of trees, out into the open to reveal the castle just beyond. It looks amazing, like something out of a fairytale, he can’t help but take in a deep inhale.

 

“Wow,” He smiles, the man laughs and nods his head in what seems to be agreement.

 

“Damn!” Margo crows at the sight of the castle, Julia lets out a low whistle and Josh starts to laugh in disbelief.

 

“Not bad,” Penny speaks up as glances to the young man that had led them here. “Guess he’s not as stupid as he looks.” He says, and when Eliot looks back at their guide, he looks sad.

 

“Don’t worry about him, he’s just a raging douche.” He assures, reaching out his hand to offer a shake. The man must take it to mean something else, because he steps forward and engulfs Eliot in a dirty, smelly hug that has him grimacing. “Ah, yeah, thanks.” He says as they break apart.

 

“Be safe,” The man tells him with a wag of his finger, then turns as if to head off into the trees again.

 

“Wait!” Eliot catches him by the hand, pulling him back, the man frowns. “I’m Eliot, what’s your name?” He questions, the man’s frown deepens. “Eliot, my name is Eliot.” He repeats.

 

“Eliot,” The man repeats, then breaks into a dazzling smile. “I’m Q.” He greets, and Eliot can’t help but grin back at him.

 

“Nice to meet you, Q. Thank you for helping us, we’d have been lost for a good while if it weren’t for you.” He explains, deciding that he’d better just talk to the guy like normal since he seemed to mostly understand what they were saying. “Would you like to come inside?” He asks, pointing back to the castle, frowning when Q quickly shakes his head.

 

“No…” He reaches out and pats Eliot’s chest awkwardly, smiling once more. “G’bye!” He turns on his heel and saunters into the forest, leaving Eliot feeling strangely disappointed.


	2. Bath and a Haircut, Two Idiots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ( Please ignore the fact that I tried to make a play on words of 'shave and a haircut, two bits' with the chapter of this title )

They’re out of the castle so that Eliot and Margo can see what the damage is to the crop fields after they were munched on by giant moth creatures. Honestly, Eliot had stopped being surprised, but he was wary of seeing such a creature in real life because that was another level.

 

The carriage takes them out to a nearby field and they step out. It’s not awful, but it’s not great either. There are flattened plants and some torn right from the ground, a good third of it was ruined. Eliot couldn’t help but sigh as he shifted some fallen stalk with his foot.

 

The guards are making a perimeter to protect them, usually they don’t have a problem. So he’s pretty alarmed when one of the guards start shouting, his eyes go to the sound of the noise. He can see a dirty figure, blood, he sucks in a sharp breath and takes off running when his guards pull out swords. The figure before them stumbles back, he recognizes the outfit, the long ratty hair.

 

“Stop!” He commands frantically, watching the men turn their heads warily as Eliot approaches them at a faster speed than he’d ever like to go. “He’s a friend,” He hisses, waving them off as Q hits the ground looking dazed.

 

“King,” Q’s hands are stained with blood, his face smeared with it as well, there’s some on his chest. His eyes are glassy, he looks confused and scared, Eliot wants to know what the fuck happened.

 

“Is that yours?” He asks, Q looks down at his hands when Eliot gestures, lets out a sob of a noise and collapses onto his back. Eliot grimaces when he spots the edges of a wound on his side, where most of the frantic hand and fingerprints were. “All right, shhh…” He shifts closer, taking a gentle hold of Q’s hip to turn him onto his side to see the full extent of the damage.

 

It looked like a bite, something big, with ragged teeth that had torn right through the man’s pale fragile flesh. The wound looked dirty as well, covered with debris and dirt, Eliot sighs as he takes one of Q’s hands to sit him up.

 

“Someone help me get him back to the carriage,” He snaps, two of the guards step forward and Q immediately throws his arms around Eliot and hides his face against his chest. “It’s okay, I’m gonna help you.” He promises quietly, helping one of the guards pull Q onto his feet.

 

“What the hell happened?” Margo asks as Eliot helps Q stumble through the field, she keeps her distance and Eliot can’t really blame her. He’s getting blood all over his clothes, but Q helped them, so he supposes it’s a fair trade in some way.

 

“I don’t know, but we’re taking him back to the castle.” He says firmly, Margo makes a face at him, but the expression softens when Q almost buckles to the ground.

 

“Fine, but he’s sitting next to you.” She mutters, heading back to the carriage.

 

He does, head leaned on Eliot’s shoulder and whimpering with every bump in the road. He’s shaking like a leaf, warm to the touch, and desperately needs a bath. When they return to the castle, Eliot helps them get Q to a nearby healer. She gives the young man disgusted looks as she treats the wound, even going so far as to doing a spell that slows the bleeding. Eliot can’t take his eyes off Q’s face, the way his eyes are scrunched shut and every time they open, he looks completely freaked.

 

“I’d suggest he get clean first, your majesty.” The woman tells him once Q’s not bleeding everywhere.

 

“Of course,” Eliot agrees with a nod, biting the inside of his cheek in thought. “Uh… God, okay. Send someone to draw a bath in my quarters, I’ll help him.” He mutters, helping the young man up and grabbing his arm when he tries to start walking. “Q, look at me.” The man is still trying to move, escape maybe, straining against Eliot’s hold.

 

“No… I need…” He lets out a frustrated noise when Eliot doesn’t release him, his breathing starting to sound shallow and panicked.

 

“It’s all right, just calm down.” He takes hold of Q’s chin, forcing him to meet the taller man’s eyes. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, all right?” He says quietly, Q lets out a soft huff as he catches his breath, not quite believing that apparently.

 

They head up to Eliot’s chambers, Q limps his way up the stairs but swats at Eliot’s hands when he tries to help. It takes a few minutes for Eliot to get across the idea of bathing to Q, which he gets very upset about, he obviously doesn’t approve of being thrown forcibly into a tub of warm water, but Eliot really had no other choice. He claws at the wooden rim frantically, splashing around and looking like a wet cat with his long hair stuck in his face.

 

“It’s just water!” Eliot snaps when some water spills onto the floor, and either Q doesn’t like his tone of voice or decides that he’s not in danger, because he falls rather still. “Thank you,” He says with a loud exhale to punctuate it. He strips off his bloody tunic and grabs a rag, leaning over the edge and beckoning the young man forward.

 

“I n-need to go,” Q tells him quietly, Eliot shakes his head and starts scrubbing at the grime and blood stained on his face.

 

“You’re hurt, you’ll stay here until I think you’re well enough.” He says firmly, earning a scowl. “I’m the High King, you’ll do as I say, understand?” He scrubs at a dirty spot on Q’s forehead and the man nods grudgingly. He notes that Q is skinnier than he probably should be, ribs sticking out and the knobs of his spine perfectly visible.

 

Eliot leans further in to reach the man, grumbling under his breath about needing a bath himself after all of this. Suddenly, he’s grabbed by the arm and yanked forward, his head dunked under the dirty water. When he surfaces, Q is laughing with delight, obviously amused.

 

“Bath!” He chimes teasingly, Eliot straightens out and pushes his soaking wet curls back.

 

“Oh, you are in so much trouble.” He strips off his tunic, steps out of his shoes and drops his pants, left only in his underwear. He approaches the bath, Q sinking into the water so that only his eyes and nose are above the surface. Eliot does a quick spell to refresh the water, then launches himself over the rim. “C’mere!” He grabs hold of Q, who thrashes in his grip, the both of them laughing.

 

“No!” Q dunks under the water and suddenly Eliot is lifted up, dropped over Q’s shoulder and face first into the water. When he resurfaces, Q is giggling, Eliot spots his long hair hanging over one of his shoulders in a strange knot.

 

“Let me fix your hair,” He pulls Q forward, turning him away to observe the matted mess. It was almost down to his back in length, pulled back in what seems to be strands of vine that are tangled and knotted with the hair. “Jesus, we’re gonna have to cut this.”

 

“Cut?” Q echoes, sounding vaguely nervous.

 

“Your hair, it’s all knotted up. It’s really long anyways, I used to cut my sister’s hair, I kinda know what I’m doing.” He gets out of the bath, locating a pair of scissors and a comb before heading back over to the tub. “Here, lean your head back." He pulls Q against the rim, taking his hair from the water and trying to find the lowest point to cut at that would be able to salvage a decent haircut out of afterwards.

 

He starts to cut, deciding to just take off the bottom five or six inches. Once it’s cut, Eliot drops the tail of matted hair to the floor. He starts to comb through the remaining hair, which releases some of the smaller knots after a bit of detangling gel one of the servants so gracefully provided him with. Q drags his fingers through the water, humming under his breath and sitting pliantly.

 

“Here,” He cuts carefully, shortening his hair just a bit more in the back after separating his bangs from the rest of it. He pulls Q around to face him and then starts in on his bangs, making sure they were long enough to push behind his ears. “Look at that, you’re cute!” He teases, Q smiles at him and reaches up to push his hair back, tugging at the short locks that were barely brushing his shoulders now.

 

Eliot cleans up the mess, then climbs back into the tub to scrub Q down. The grime doesn’t come off easy, it’s like Q bathed in glue then rolled in dirt. He’s careful around the wound, makes sure it soaks in the water for a bit to clean it out. It takes two water more refreshing spells on the water before he’s clean. About halfway through his cleaning, Q finds a rag and starts washing idly at Eliot, which makes him laugh. Q only smiles at him and continues to clean at the same spot.

 

He washes Q’s hair, then his own, and then they get out. Once they’re dry, Eliot wraps gauze around the man’s wound, which is hard considering how much he squirms through it. Q wanders around the room as Eliot finds some clothes that might fit him, a beige tunic and some slacks that he has to put a belt on for them to fit the smaller man. Q isn’t too happy being placed in clothes, but he allows it in return for being able to go barefoot.

 

“Fine, keep your shirt on.” He relents, Q nods his head. Eliot sinks down on the foot of his bed and watches Q, who walks almost like a monkey might at times. He’s capable of standing up straight, he just seemed to have a habit of crouching and hunching over when he walked. Eliot smirks when Q peeks carefully out the window.

 

“Pretty,” He says quietly, almost to himself, then turns to continue snooping around the room.

 

“What’s Q short for?” He asks, earning the man’s gaze, he pauses in his steps.

 

“Q?” He repeats, confused, Eliot nods. “I don’t know, what’s that?” He questions in reply, slowly approaching Eliot.

 

“You said your name was Q,” Eliot elaborates, puzzled and a little concerned.

 

“Oh, hm…” He glances away, pondering this a moment. “Q is short for… Quick.” He says, smirking a little. “And… Queen…” He does a little turn, jumping up onto a chair and balancing there in a crouch. “Oh! And quiet!” He hisses in an excited whisper.

 

“Well, where are you from?” Eliot inquires, frustrated that the man didn’t seem to be able to give him a real or straightforward answer.

 

“Earth,” He says without hesitation, Eliot’s eyebrows raise.

 

“You’re from Earth?” He asks, Q nods his head in agreement. “How long have you lived here?”

 

“Hm… About…” He starts to count on his fingers, biting his lip as his eyes go to the ceiling in concentration. “Sixteen winters?” He says, unsure, rubbing at his brow.

 

“How old are you?” Eliot stands up.

 

“Twenty-four winters? Twenty-five??” Q suddenly seems to grow unsettled by this, wrapping his arms around himself. “I don’t… remember…” His eyes are suddenly red, and Eliot feels a sorrow form deep in the pit of his stomach for the young man. “I hit my head, I don’t remember a lot.” He confesses, voice shaking.

 

“That’s all right, well we’ll just pick an age, huh?” He takes Q’s face into his hands, humming as he observes him carefully. “I’d say twenty-four, how’s that?” He questions, Q smiles shakily and rests his hands on Eliot’s wrists.

 

“Twenty-four,” He agrees quietly. “What’s Q short for?” He asks, Eliot hums under his breath.

 

“I don’t know, let’s go ask my friends.” He takes Q by the hand and leads him from the room, they walk down to the throne room together.


	3. The Boy from Earth

Q occasionally pulls at his hand to peer out a window or lean into a room to look around but goes along willingly. Eventually, they find the throne room and Eliot smiles at the sight of Margo and Julia sitting together at the table.

 

“He’s from Earth!” He declares with gusto, earning the attention of the two. Julia’s mouth drops open, Margo doesn’t even seem to recognize the man standing with Eliot.

 

“Oh shit, is that him?” She says, doing a double take.

 

“Cleans up well, huh?” Eliot raises Q’s arm above his head and makes him do a little twirl with a twist of his own arm. “He’s got brain damage, doesn’t remember his name. What do you think Q is short for?” He asks as he pulls Q along towards the table.

 

“He looks… familiar.” Julia says, standing up and approaching Q, who shrinks back into Eliot. “How long has he been here?” She asks, Eliot shrugs his shoulders.

 

“Over a decade apparently, since he was a kid most likely.” He explains, watching something glint in Julia’s eyes.

 

“You look like…” She frowns, pointing a finger at Q cautiously. “Quentin, is your name Quentin?” She questions, Q glances back at Eliot warily, then scratches at his cheek.

 

“Quentin,” He parrots, then smiles a little. “Quentin… Quentin Col… Cold…” His eyebrows furrow, he presses his fingers to his mouth in frustration.

 

“Coldwater,” Julia breathes, Quentin snaps his fingers clumsily and grins brightly.

 

“Coldwater, Quentin Coldwater!” He agrees.

 

“You know him?” Margo demands, Julia grabs Q and yanks him into a crushing hug.

 

“We were best friends in grade school, we used to read Fillory books together! He-He went missing from his room when he was like nine!” She laughs, almost hysterical, spinning them around. Eliot snickers at the sight of Quentin’s confused expression.

 

“Grade school,” Quentin grumbles, making a face when Julia pulls him back at the arms.

 

“It’s Julia, Q… Remember?” She asks, earnest in her words, Quentin leans in close to observe her with a small frown.

 

“Julia…” He steps back from her reach, turns and starts walking around the throne room without another word. Eliot looks to Margo, who shrugs and mouths ‘he’s cute’ at him, Eliot rolls his eyes.

 

“So, we know what Q stands for. And I’m guessing that means you know how old he is?” Eliot asks as he leans against the table.

 

“He’s twenty-four, twenty-five in December.” She nods her head, Eliot claps his hands with a smile.

 

“I was right, Q!” He calls out, Quentin makes an irritated face as if bothered by the volume but continues his slow circle around the edges of the room.

 

“I can’t believe he’s been here all this time, his parents looked for him for years.” Julia says, shaking her head in disbelief. “I looked for him too, we thought he’d been kidnapped, killed…” She wipes a hand over her face.

 

“He was out here, I guess… Poor kid.” Eliot sighs, Quentin slowly returns to them, crowding up to Eliot and wrapping his arms around him in a hug. “This is a lot better now that you don’t stink.” He jokes, earning a squeeze that crushes the air from his lungs. “Okay, release.” He says as he tries to wriggle free.

 

“Hug,” Quentin mumbles, nuzzling his chest.

 

“Margo?” Eliot sighs, the woman smirks at him coyly.

 

“You brought home the stray, you train it.” She takes Julia by the elbow and they slip from the throne room together.

 

-

 

“Who let him in here?!” Tick says at the sight of Quentin standing in a chair, his voice shrill and angry. Quentin seems to recognize him and makes a shriek of a noise as he rolls out of the chair and onto the floor. “Guards!” Tick calls out, racing after Quentin around the table.

 

Quentin knocks over a chair, Eliot frowns as a few guards step into the room, holding up his hand to stop them. The feral man slips under the table, Eliot winces when he hears him thump most likely his head before appearing on the other side and scrambling upright to get behind the king.

 

“My apologies, your majesty, this idiot creature!” He throws up his hands in frustrated exasperation, Eliot quirks an eyebrow as Quentin huddles behind him, as if trying to disappear behind his frame.

 

“He’s a friend, Tick.” He says, the man freezes up.

 

“Your majesty, he’s a menace… He breaks into the castle a few times a year, wrecks the place, and leaves!” He pleads, Eliot reaches behind himself to pull at Quentin, who whines in complaint.

 

“Q, you been causing trouble around here?” He asks, Quentin quickly shakes his head.

 

“He’s evil, he won’t let me play in the castle!” The man hisses, Eliot can’t help but snort, but he sobers up at the sight of Tick looking quite pissed.

 

“You don’t belong here, you little miscreant!” Tick snaps, Quentin scowls at him.

 

“He’s a child of Earth,” Eliot says, watching Tick’s eyes widen and his skin pale. “By all means he probably has more right to be here than me, he’s been here much longer.” He wraps his arm around Quentin’s shoulders, the young man preening under the attention.

 

“B-But…” Tick looks like his entire world has imploded, Quentin itches his face and then drops his head against Eliot’s chest with a sigh.

 

“He stays, Tick. Leave him to me.” He says decisively, the man wearily nods his head.

 

“Of course, sire.” He agrees quietly, turning and heading out of the room with the guards in tow.

 

-

 

“Quentin, down!” Eliot hisses when the man leaps up onto the table during a meeting with the advisors, Quentin stands tall above them all as he frowns down at the maps they’re gazing over. Tick is giving him an intense stare, obviously holding his tongue as he grips the table. Quentin sidesteps and shuffles along the edge, Eliot reaches out as he approaches and snags his arm. “Come down!” He pulls at the man, who frowns and points at the table.

 

“Wrong,” He crouches, touching a square of land. “The forest burned down, a swamp witch conjured a muddy bog there.” He explains, grunting in frustration when Eliot wraps his arms around the younger from behind and yanks him off the table.

 

“I swear to god, I will get a spray bottle and spray you like a cat.” He wags his finger at Quentin, who watches the movement blankly. When he stops his hand, Quentin leans forward and presses a kiss to his finger, smiling at him brightly. “Thank you,” He sighs, rubbing his hand over his face tiredly.

 

“I need to go,” Quentin tells him, Eliot immediately shakes his head.

 

“Absolutely not, not until you tell me what attacked you and your wound is healed. You’ll just go out there and get it all infected.” He says shortly, Quentin scowls at him and reaches out, knocking over a wine goblet that spills on the table. “Go fucking sit down before I put you on a leash!” He snaps, Quentin huffs and storms across the room to throw himself on the floor in a frustrated heap.

 

They eventually finish the meeting, even though Quentin spends the entire thing sighing loudly and rolling on the floor like a child. Eliot figures he never quite learned how to grow up, or how to behave in the slightest considering he most likely raised himself. It made him sad, that this guy was fucked hard in the head and completely messed up and there was really nothing Eliot could do but try to help.

 

To be honest, he was scared to let Quentin leave, he had grown attached to him. Even Eliot knew that spending night upon night in the wild belly of Fillory was incredibly dangerous, the fact that Quentin had survived there from nine years old was surprising.

 

“C’mere, Q.” He sits down on the floor, groaning quietly as he does so. Quentin slinks closer, climbing into Eliot’s lap and situating himself comfortably. “I want you to stay here,” He says quietly, Quentin shakes his head.

 

“The man doesn’t like me,” He mutters, picking at a button on Eliot’s shirt, then leaning down to lick it. Eliot pushes at his forehead in exasperation, Quentin presses his cheek to Eliot’s chest with a sigh.

 

“You can play in the castle as long as you stay out of trouble, no breaking things or disturbing people, okay?” He says, Quentin sits up.

 

“I can play Fillory?” He asks quietly, Eliot squints his eyes in confusion.

 

“Play Fillory?” He repeats hesitantly, Quentin nods his head.

 

“I’m Martin, I get to be a king!” He flops out of Eliot’s lap, then gets to his feet. “You play too!” He insists, Eliot shakes his head as he gets up.

 

“No thank you, I don’t have much imagination.” He waves a weak hand, Quentin grabs him by the wrist.

 

“I’ll be Martin, you be Eliot.” He says with a nod, Eliot smirks.

 

“Why don’t you be Quentin?” He suggests, Quentin blinks at him, puzzled.

 

“Who’s Quentin?” He asks quietly, Eliot blanches hard, Quentin stares at him a second longer before releasing his hand. “The Watcher Woman is close, I have to go!” He races to the other side of the throne room, Eliot watches him crouch and lean out into the hallway.

 

“Be careful!” He calls out, Quentin turns and salutes him.

 

“Yes, your highness!” He replies, then scatters out into the hallway, disappearing with an excited hoot of a noise.


	4. Sour Apples

“Your majesty!” Tick comes storming into the room, followed by two guards hauling a struggling Quentin into the room. He was covered in what looked like flour, and something brown was smeared onto his face that he really hoped wasn’t what he thought it was.

 

“Oh god I am too sober for this.” Eliot rubs a hand over his temple, standing up from his throne.

 

“I told you to train him,” Margo says lazily, Eliot turns his head to shoot her a warning glare.

 

“Sire, your friend snuck into the kitchen and after a run-in with the cook while helping himself, made a complete mess!” Tick snaps, Eliot watches Quentin tug angrily at the grip he’s held fast in, before shooting a pleading look at Eliot.

 

“Quentin, come here please.” He says, the guards hesitantly release the man, who cautiously slinks over. “Did you make a mess?” He questions softly, Quentin keeps his eyes averted, wringing his flour dusted palms together.

 

“The Watcher Woman…” Quentin mutters, Eliot reaches out and takes his chin in his hand, directing his eyes up to meet his own.

 

“There is no Watcher Woman, Q.” He says firmly, watching Quentin’s eyes transform from guilty to furious. He doesn’t have time to prepare before the man launches his palms into Eliot’s chest, sending him staggering as Quentin sprints to the window. “Fuck!” He follows closely behind, only narrowly snagging Quentin by the back of his shirt and pants.

 

“No!” Quentin grips at the frame of the sill, either trying to jump or climb out, Eliot didn’t know and didn’t care. “Let go!” Eliot wraps his arms around Quentin’s waist and tugs, they both go sprawling out onto the floor.

 

“You don’t do that, hear me?” He snaps at Quentin, who is breathing hard as he looks at Eliot with wary wet eyes. “That’s a bad Quentin, you don’t do that.” He sits up on his knees, grabbing Quentin’s arms and tugging until he shuffles forward into his embrace. He squeezes the man tight, heart still racing from the fear of seeing the Quentin climbing onto the window sill. “You don’t do that.” He repeats once more, faintly.

 

“Sorry,” Quentin mumbles against his shoulder, hanging his arms over Eliot’s shoulders and laying pliantly in his hold. “Bad Quentin,” He repeats, Eliot huffs in amusement.

 

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up, huh?” He says softly, slowly getting to his feet and bringing Quentin with him. He turns to Tick, who is standing with his arms crossed. “Thank you for bringing him to me.” He says with a nod, walking past them without another word, his arm twined through Quentin’s.

 

-

 

“King!” Eliot startles from his thoughts, having been reading over some documents for legislation he was supposed to sign and discuss in a meeting in a day or so. He turns his head, finding Quentin climbing through his window, eyes widening at the sight.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” He demands as Quentin jumps off the sill and into the room, barefoot and muddy.

 

“Present!” Quentin holds up a hand, Eliot can see a faint glimmer of red in the light.

 

“What did I tell you about the windows?” Eliot walks over and peers out the sill, finding the drop to be at least twenty feet. “How the hell did you get up here?” He looks to Quentin, who is still holding out his so-called present. 

 

“Climbed,” He steps closer, smelling like fresh earth and grime, Eliot sighs as he holds out the muddy object in his fist.

 

He takes it carefully, finding a spare rag one of the servants had left whilst cleaning to wipe it off. Eliot pauses in his cleaning when he realizes that the object in his hand is a gem, not nicely cut but nonetheless beautiful. It glimmers a deep red, Eliot turns his eyes to Quentin again.

 

“Where’d you find this?” He asks, Quentin shrugs and wipes his hands off on his shirt carelessly.

 

“Fillory has lots of treasure.” He says with a small smile, Eliot smirks fondly and slips the stone into his pocket.

 

“Okay, Tarzan, into the bath tub, you know the drill.” He says with a wave of his hand, Quentin scowls but obeys. He washes Quentin quickly, doesn’t really put too much effort into it, he knows he’ll be dirty again soon anyway. “Listen, I know you like to be outside.” He says quietly as he pulls a clump of mud from Quentin’s hair.

 

“I don’t want to stay in.” He whines, already expecting an argument, Eliot nods his head.

 

“I’ll make you a deal,” He says, picking up the washcloth and scrubbing at a dried mud mark on his face. “If you stay near the castle, you can go outside whenever you want.” He offers, sitting back to watch Quentin splash happily in the water for a moment.

 

“Outside, outside…” He hums, obviously delighted. “King come too!” He urges, Eliot quickly shakes his head.

 

“Oh definitely not, I’m not a mud kind of guy…” He says with a wave of his hand, trying not to look into Quentin’s sad eyes. “And you can call me Eliot, you know that, right?” He asks, Quentin frowns at him for a moment.

 

“Eliot… Like the alien.” He holds out a finger, Eliot’s eyebrows raise up in surprise.

 

“No, E.T. was the alien, but that’s close…” He nods his head, taking Quentin’s finger and shaking it playfully. “You remember that movie?” He asks, Quentin hums and sinks low into the water, submerging his mouth.

 

Eliot looks at him in wonder while he blows bubbles, sitting up to giggle to himself. Quentin was a strange guy, but he sure as hell wasn’t boring to be around.

 

-

 

“Eliot!” Eliot can’t help the grin forming on his face at the sound of the voice echoing from the hall, the sound of bare feet racing across the floors.

 

Quentin had been slowly spending more and more time away from the castle, which of course worried Eliot. But he always came back, and he promised to do so whenever he left and planned on being gone for a while. So Eliot trusted him, and after being gone for two days, he had apparently returned.

 

“Lassie’s come home,” Margo says with a small smile, Eliot rolls his eyes and turns his head.

 

“Eliot!” Quentin slides in front of the door, Eliot feels his nerves spike at the sight of crimson stained hands and face.

 

“Really knows how to make an entrance,” Margo mutters as Quentin hurries forward, there’s a sack over his shoulder that he drops onto the floor as he approaches.

 

“Q, what the hell happened?” He grabs at Quentin’s muddy and bloody shirt, but surprisingly doesn’t smell anything copper. There’s a tangy scent in the air, almost like fruit…

 

“Apples!” Quentin reaches down into the sack and pulls out a large greenish blue fruit.

 

“That is not an apple,” Eliot deadpans, Margo snorts as Quentin’s expression falls. “What are you covered in?” He asks, noting that the red blood-like stains were around his mouth and fingers mostly.

 

“Apple!” Quentin pulls a stone knife from his pocket, stabbing it into the fruit before yanking it out and cracking open the fruit with a ripe crunching noise. There’s a red inside, Quentin fishes out a large spongey looking pit, and then offers half of the strange fruit to Eliot.

 

“N-No thank you,” He holds his hands up near his chest, grimacing. Eliot looks to the doorway when Tick steps inside, looking exasperated at the sight of Quentin. “Tick, what is this stuff?” He asks warily, Tick approaches.

 

“It’s a flesh fruit, sire.” He explains, maintaining his own distance. “It’s a bit like candy to the common people of Fillory, a child’s snack.” He says with a small cringe, Quentin offers the half to Eliot again.

 

“Candy, huh?” Eliot takes the half warily, the inside looks a little like jam, dark strawberry jam. Quentin looks satisfied with himself, sitting down on the floor and digging his fingers into his own half. He scoops a bunch of the inside into his mouth, sucking on his fingers messily and staining his face more.

 

“I wouldn’t, sire.” Tick says with a wave of his hand, Eliot frowns at him.

 

“Why not?” He asks, taking a sniff of the fruit, it smelled kind of like some sugary candy. He sticks his finger into it, pulling some of the sticky inside out and popping his finger into his mouth. He’s met with immediate sourness, and he smacks his lips and squints his eyes, coughing.

 

“It’s rather sour,” Tick finishes needlessly, Eliot lets Margo try it, she makes a similar pucker face.

 

“Jesus,” She mutters, they both look to Quentin, who is eagerly stuffing the rest of his half into his mouth.

 

“Quentin, how can you stand that?” He crouches in front of the young man, who is sticky with the red jam and smiling as he licks his fingers.

 

“Apples,” He wiggles his dark red stained fingers at Eliot. The king smirks a little, smacking his lips again and nodding his head.

 

“Kinda does taste like apples,” He agrees with a laugh.

 


End file.
